


The Sum of I

by Mr_Skurleton



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Knights of the Nine - Freeform, Mod: Armageddon, Mod: Heart of the Dead, Mod: Legends of the North, Mod: Lost Spires, Mod: Malevolent, Mod: Ruined-Tail's Tale, Mod: Servant of the Dawn, Mod: Tears of the Fiend, Multi, Oblivion Main Quest, Shivering Isles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Skurleton/pseuds/Mr_Skurleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ask any adventurer what they do for a living, and they will tell you a hundred stories.  Ask them why, and they will only tell you one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why I Killed Myself

             He stood in the doorway.  It wasn’t unlike anything one would see in any sort of public establishment; the brooding, hooded, silent warrior that could have easily passed for a lone hero or typical assassin.  What drew my attention to this sudden creature was three-fold.

            One, as I mentioned, he was hooded.  Yet it wasn’t a common color – it was red.  A red hood.

            Two, upon his wrists he wore separated prison cuffs.

            And three, Ormil was already staring at him with an amalgamation of both intense curiosity and subtle concern.

            The Argonian, in turn, set his gaze on the elf.  I continued to glance between the two, making no attempt to be duplicitous in regards to my actions.  Luckily, though, neither cast their attention on me.  For who was I but a simple patron?  Being important in this situation was only tantamount if I was to gain something from this silent connection obviously pointing towards a relationship previously forged from some unknown event.

            Only moments later though the mystery vanished, and the red-hooded Argonian boldly made his way to the innkeeper.  The clamor of the two or three other rabble wasn’t cacophonous in the slightest, but combined with the noise of a boat it was enough to block out the quick whispers they fervently shared with each other.

            So it was that I decided to turn my attention back to the article in front of me.  There was a plate of food to the side as well – a crostata, to be exact – but the rocking of the ship dissuaded my stomach from its earlier whining for consumption and left me a few gurgles less than voracious. 

            I didn’t mind.

            Neither could this emperor, either.  Honestly, I didn’t even know there was an emperor, but I suppose that was to be expected given the circumstances of my previous living arrangements.  The article went on to explain in less than necessary detail this emperor’s life, ascribing many of these oddly linked events to such concepts of fate and divinely-crafted destiny.  Well, not conspicuously, of course, I just learned over the years that a man’s – an important man’s – obituary often contains biases towards the idea that every major event is connected in some way.

            I had never heard of a sorcerer taking over the throne for nearly a decade.  Then again, I also never heard of the emperor.

            I didn’t even know what a “warp” was, much less of one happening in the west.

            I did recall some floating rumors a few years back regarding something having to do with a red mountain.  But that’s only because of the close proximity the province has with my home.

            No, the only interesting piece of information that I arbitrarily decided to pay attention to was the fact that the writer of this article claims that the emperor was in fact murdered by some unknown party.  As well as his sons.  A conspiracy on the part of those currently governing the land?  Something more sinister?  A familial night of bread-baking gone horribly wrong?  Who cares?  I certainly didn’t.  I took an interest in this part of the article, of course, but that is irrelevant.

            At this point I turned my gaze upwards again and noticed that Ormil was curiously absent.  Yet there stood the Argonian, clearly waiting for the elf’s return, whether it be for a drink, confirmation of the night’s lodgings, or – and possibly more accurately – information. 

            A suspicious looking fellow coming to an inn for information?  So quickly after the surmised assassination of some of the most important people in this Empire’s history?  It was easily settled.  I rose to meet the man.

            When I approached the bar I fashioned myself in a way that didn’t make it noticeable that I was taking in the lizard’s appearance.  Leather armor, dirty.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  His scales were a bright orange, as were his eyes – not uncommon given his geographical location, unless he wasn’t in fact from Cyrodiil at all.

            “Are you from Cyrodiil?” I suddenly asked, surprising myself in the process.

            The orange Argonian didn’t respond.  I glanced upward in thought; where most would liken this to being true to the “lone warrior’s” personality, I instead opted to believe it was simply because he wasn’t going to just answer a random question that could have been pointed to anyone in a public area.

            “Sorry,” I apologized to him despite just not figuring out that he was not going to reply without first a greeting.  But how to greet someone with no name?  I shrugged and stepped close enough to be standing next to him.  “Hi.”

            This time a reaction was garnered.  He slowly turned his head to meet my eyes with his.  They were large, as was common for an Argonian, and they were intense.  I mentioned that they were orange, but there was something in the way he stared with them, something in the way his battle-seen scales set upon his face that spoke of something I wasn’t familiar with.  Not that I was intimidated, of course.  From the onset of his turn and the response he gave following mine, I have every doubt in the world that he was attempting to accomplish that.

            “Hello,” he spoke.  It was too quick for me to identify any sort of accent.

            “…I saw you walk in,” I awkwardly stated.  I mentally shrugged; I wasn’t trying to get him into my bed – yet, anyway, depending on how this relationship unfolds, and assuming of course there will be one, mutual or not – I was attempting to glean him for my own curiosity.  A fault, I suppose.

Unfortunately, he didn’t answer to this.  What _was_ fortunate, though, was that he didn’t turn away from me, indicating that he, too, was trying to figure me out.  Presumably, he assumed I wanted something from him.

            “…And I saw you with Ormil.”  A statement that was ambiguous in the clearest sense of the word.  “Talking with Ormil,” I corrected in case he took my previous statement as something of a scandal.  Although, in hindsight, perhaps that would have been better, since he would either rebuke or affirm the sentiment.

            “I was,” he said.

            Now I mentally sighed.  On the one hand he seemed fairly ordinary, which was disappointing.  His responses were that of a typical citizen, assassin or not.  However, in the seconds following said disappointment I came to an epiphany.  The circumstances regarding what was being said didn’t follow a straight set of logic that has been so set in this land over the course of the years.  His continued attention with the lack of questioning my motives proved to be a combination that equated to being intelligent enough to not assume anything of the other party.  One could argue that he was simply retarded, but remember then that his presence alone called for the attention of the innkeeper in place of his own patrons.  No, there was an intelligence here that wasn’t like the others I have spoken with.  I smiled and reached into my pouch.

            “My name is Secura Vant,” I introduced myself.  “I’m an officiant of the East Empire Company based on Solstheim.  How would you like to accompany me on a journey across the Imperial Province?”


	2. The Ancestor

            “These places were always reminiscent of a bathtub, wouldn’t you agree?”

            Rasi’Mar turned his usual hardened gaze towards me as he pulled a torch off its sconce.  Fairly typical of him that he didn’t respond, and even though we had only met the day before, I had somewhat grown used to it.

            “Bandits are up ahead,” he spoke after a few minutes of perusing the marbled hall.  “Do you want me to deal with them first?”

            “I’m sure there have been plenty of people over the years deriding these hooligans for their odd comportment,” I snickered.  Perhaps penuriously so, given my own fortunate standard of living.

            “Society isn’t hospitable towards the inhospitable,” he answered my quip.  “Well?”

            I glanced down the hall at the faint light of an obvious campfire in the near distance, and then back to him.

            “If you desire to, be my guest.  I can handle… possibly one if he or she decides to approach me,” I reassured as I patted the mace at my hip.  After all, he was supposed to be a companion, not a bodyguard.

            Rasi’Mar said nothing, however.  He simply lowered his head, quietly pulled out the iron sword from its sheath, and darted forward.

 

* * *

  

            “I’m sorry.  I’m not interested,” the red-hooded Argonian stated as he turned back to the counter.  Ormil had opened the door to his quarters and reentered the tavern.

            Ubiquitously I was devastated by his response.  However, I quickly fashioned an idea, a scheme of momentous proportions that surely the bards from all over would compose songs of how I defeated this nefarious foe.  The foe of course being apathy.

            “Forgive me the delay,” Ormil apologized, eyeing me for a brief moment before returning his attention to the leather-clad lizard.  “In any case, I believe I remember where they now frequent –”

            A jingle of assorted metals reverberated through the inn, a sound that had enough of a presence that the low whispers and intricate thoughts of the deprecated sat silent.  The small, but still sizeable, sack of gold landed intimately on the wooden bar.

            “Cease and desist, tavernkeeper,” I interjected.  “Part with your information and this handout will find a new home in the harbor.  At least for right now.  Let me share some words with our mutual friend.”

            Ormil immediately went silent.

            The Argonian, now obviously irritated by the sudden pause in his detective work, turned to me with the slightest hint of a frown.  “I gave you my answer.”

            “But I haven’t given you my story, and thus the reason why you should reconsider.”

            His frown deepened.

            “Ormil…”

            “Uh… I’m sorry, you know how my business has been waning as of late… if it’s just to hear her out, what harm can there be?  All three of us will win in the end,” Ormil explained.

            The gruff, stoic warrior in a situation like this would drop any pretense of general politeness and strike the insolent money grubber, demanding that he give him the information he needed so that he can continue on his quest, hinting at a darkened, deeply scarring past.  Yet in the moments that preceded his answer I saw none of this in his demeanor – his irritation remained in that slight frown, standing as a testament to his patience.  A mere sigh escaped his reptilian nostrils and he nodded.  I was, of course, infinitely curious at this response.  He was quiet, intense, and willing to listen to reason.

            “Are you alright with joining me at my table?” I asked politely.

            It would have made for a surprise that he gestured for me to lead had it not been for the previous action he just demonstrated.  I smiled warmly and nudged the sack towards Ormil, who, a little too excitedly, snatched it from its temporary home.

            I was the first to sit down, and upon noticing that the Argonian did not follow suit, several emotions bubbled in my breast.  Was that previous show of civility merely a deception on his part so that he could hassle me, instead?  Did he actually have some bland, brooding past that prevented him from sharing a pleasant conversation with a stranger?  Did I forget to bring him a chair?  I checked.  No, there was one already there, across from me.  My mind reeled with the other possibilities, though.

            “How did you know I wanted information?” he suddenly asked, breaking me from my nonsensical musings.

            As I was just concentrating, I didn’t answer immediately.  Once more he showed that same patience, and with the calmness present in his voice, my interest in this person was revitalized.

            “Your hood.  Your wrists.  And his eyes.  Three-fold,” I answered.  “I’m sure there’s a story, stranger, but I’d like for you first to hear mine.”

            He cocked his head to the side, not out of confusion, but out of something I instantly recognized, because it was the same look I was constantly giving him.  Intrigue.

            He sat down.

 

* * *

  

            The Ayleids, while not anything I researched extensively, always had an air of oddity about them, especially when they were brought up in conversation by the local populace.  The ruins were that of an underground temple rather than a city, yet descriptions never strayed from misnomering them as “cities”.  They held no housing to speak of, no buildings aside from the connecting halls and chambers that were generously replete with hazards and traps.  A fact of which caused me no end of consternation, as it boggled my mind – why in the world did the Ayleids feel it necessary to arm their “cities” with nearly impossible to see death mechanisms?  Did they themselves not care if they perished to their own creation?  Or were these supposed cities really something else and the population was merely blind to their purpose?

            Regardless of the actual answer, it appeared that my companion did not harbor these suspicions as I did.  In fact, it seemed as if he was perfectly familiar with these kinds of areas, almost infallibly so.  In the chamber that followed the entry hall, the score of bandits that the ruins had housed were all dead – but the trick of the situation was that Rasi’Mar’s dulled, iron blade was not painted in the various hues of red one would find on a simple murderer.  In fact, it merely rested by his side.  No, instead, he had utilized the traps of the ruins and the bandits’ lack of knowledge of the area to his own advantage, and the end of that equation was perfectly clear.

            He turned his head to me.

            “They have some armor lying around if you wanted to take it,” he offered, sheathing his blade and picking his torch back up.  “The statue is in the lower chambers.  Bandits won’t be there.”

            I decided to take him up on his offer, walking over to a banged up chestplate made of the same material as his sword.  Of course, I was no warrior – the machinations of the object in front of me were foreign.

            “Um… did you want to help me with this?” I asked, slightly embarrassed.

            He didn’t hesitate.  The Argonian graciously walked over and helped me with the straps.

 

* * *

  

            “I’m not a babysitter,” the Argonian stated firmly.

            “Nor am I expecting you to be.  While I’m no expert in the field of combat, I can still hold my own against the common rabble,” I reassured.  “I’m not hiring you on as a mercenary… I just want a companion.”

            He stared for a few seconds, seemingly mulling my words through.  “To what end?” he finally asked.

            This was a fair question, and in truth I began to hesitate.  The actual answer would have required a slight bit of intimacy, enough so that I didn’t think he would be interested in hearing nor would I be interested in sharing.  So instead I reverted back to my previous drop of backstory.

            “I’m an East Empire employee with no knowledge of the Imperial Province,” I admitted, which wasn’t altogether false.  “This is why I’m not hiring a bodyguard.  There is no end goal, here – I simply desire to explore the land in its entirety with some company.  You can probably divine that I enjoy talking.  And it wouldn’t do well to travel with someone as ignorant as I.  I doubt any of these people have been past Wawnet.”  I leaned forward.  “But you… you look as if you’ve travelled the world.  You’d make excellent company.”

            His small frown returned, tipping me off that I had said something to irk him.  It didn’t take me long to realize what this was, however, after a quick analysis of my wording.

            “I’m not a tour guide, either.”

            “You’re not a tour guide, I know.”

            Both sentences were said at the same time.  I continued.

            “That isn’t what I’m trying to imply,” I said, sitting back and rubbing my forehead, knowing unconsciously that said implication was definitely there and I just didn’t realize it.  “Perhaps I’m just lonely, really.  Maybe you can look at my interest as an investment into someone whom I _know_ will be travelling a lot.  You’re not following me.  I’m following you.”

            The Argonian didn’t speak for many minutes.  His attention was pulled elsewhere, but when I discerned where, it wasn’t anything specific.  This let me in on the fact that he was thinking.  A good sign, at least.

            “I picked up the hood as I was escaping prison,” he then answered, causing me to blink several times.  “This was a few days ago.  Don’t base large assumptions on minor details.”

            My own attention this time returned to the article I had previously finished skimming.  I noted the timing of both events before continuing the conversation.

            “That was only two of my observations.  You neglected to justify the third.”

            Again that sigh escaped from him, but it was followed by a subtle shrug.  His eyes then met mine once more, this time though with a sense of definition.

            “My name is Rasi’Mar,” he suddenly introduced.  “And I plan on killing a bandit clan led by a man named Claude Maric.”

            He then turned to Ormil.  “Where is he?”

            The elf glanced between him and me.  I nodded to let him share the information.

            “The Roxey Inn.”

            I sharply glanced back at the Argonian.  He was staring at the table, once again seemingly lost in thought.

            “So…” I started.  “Is that where we’re headed?”

            He didn’t waste any time.

            “No.  Vilverin.”

 

* * *

 

            The statuette stood atop a pedestal amongst several small crystals.  In my readings I recall them being called “Welkynd Stones”.  Of course, as expected, these didn’t allow for my companion to provide any focus.

            Vilverin’s silence was only filled by the moaning of the walking dead that we actively avoided – due to neither of our weapons possessing the ability to vanquish them – and my incessant rambling over subjects only loosely related to the Ayleids and the oddities surrounding them.  Rasi’Mar rarely ever responded unless he had to give me specific instructions, whether it be to walk around a disguised pitfall or to stay out of sight of a wraith (a creature I had never seen before and will from this point on pray to every God I know of that such an encounter never occur again), but he did participate once.  One that I had resolved to follow up on as soon as we had left this detestable, elaborate tomb.

            “…Sorry, I did mention that I enjoyed partaking in conversation…” was how I started that line of inquiry.  “Does it bother you?”

            In my earlier analyses I described how the stereotypical monotony that was the silent swordsman would have reacted to the behavior I usually encompass.  I denoted my talks as “ramblings” because, in essence, that’s what they were.  Yet in no case did Rasi’Mar provide an example of his perceived archetype; he never rolled his eyes, interrupted me, or made it in any shape or form obvious that he was tuning me out.  In fact, with every glance I gave him, I noticed him doing one thing above everything else, including the important focus on survival – he listened.

            “No,” was all he said to the effect.

            So it was that I continued talking until we reached the statuette.  He reached for it after double-checking that there weren’t any more traps that might have triggered once it was removed from its current setting.  Now the single question burned through my mind to the point where I couldn’t keep it in any longer.

            “Eliminating some bandits in an inn, procuring this unknown statue… what’s this all about, Rasi’Mar?” I asked.

            And he gave his single answer.

            “Revenge.”


	3. Gravefinder

            Revenge was one of those strange words that often evoked many a mixed emotion, regardless of the context in which it is spoken.  In a way it acts as a great equalizer – the word, not the action – one who would speak it could cause the other party to part with their greatest secrets, while others would shut down, recalling events that they either participated in or had such doled out to them.  In any of these cases, however, I hadn’t considered using such a word nor action against anyone I’ve ever met before.

            I had considered that Rasi’Mar was, to a proportionate extent, a murderer; after all, the timing of his “release” from prison (still a mystery to solve, but in due time) along with the supposed assassination of the emperor made for a conspirator’s heavenly feast.  Yet vengeance wasn’t something I gleaned from his character.

            In many ways I was disappointed.  Such darkened thoughts were consistent with the hooded Argonian’s behavior.  His silence, his decisiveness in battle, the way he conducted himself with others, that imposing nature… I began to worry I chose a being that in all essence, despite the intellect he so commonly shown, was no better than the common rabble I had tried so hard to avoid.

            But then, perhaps in my haste towards attempting to rectify and thus reassure my conscience, I began to latch onto everything I noted that would detract from the usual line up of behavioral paraphernalia.  His patience, his willingness to listen, both were oddities I had not recognized in such archetypes he provided, but there was in fact one aspect I didn’t actually notice until just now, as I was thinking at length about it.  So it was that I decided to bring it up in conversation, given the intimate scenery.

            “You don’t have an accent.”

            The fire continued to crackle, flashing the orange hues across his similarly colored scales.  His head was at a downward angle that caused his hood to cover his eyes, thus I was unable to judge his reaction.  He was seated upon one of the three stools surrounding the fire pit that we found just outside of Vilverin, given to us to graciously by a couple of bandits.  His cuffed hands lay softly on his lap, giving me the indication that he wasn’t tense; therefore I was to assume he had once again fallen into thought.  Even knowing his motives he continued to surprise me, although that just might be because of my geographical origins and how typical it was for a gruff Nord to suddenly get irritated at anything relating to his or her own upbringing.

            However, the longer the silence dragged on, the more I began to rethink my stance on his hesitation.  Was there another reason to his silence?  And then it metaphorically smacked me across my face – he was listening.  Again.  Or at least, patiently waiting for me to clarify my vaguely put together epiphany.  I mentally chided myself for such an offense.

            “Er…” I started eloquently.  “I mean to say… you _do_ have an accent, of course, everyone does.  But it isn’t that typical Argonian brogue.  It sounds very much Imperialistic.  Can I assume you weren’t born in the Black Marsh?”

            “I wasn’t,” he finally spoke, giving me the satisfaction that I was right in my second assumption.  I smiled slightly.  “Cyrodiil.”

            “Ah,” I sounded meaninglessly.  I should have expected that; possessing an Imperial accent because he was born in the Imperial Province.  Way too obvious.  “But still… you’ve demonstrated to understand these vagabonds almost personally, yet your education – or that of which I’ve been able to discern – is that above their kind.”

            “Bandits are just people forced out of society’s tight constraints,” Rasi’Mar said suddenly.  I sat back a bit, wondering if I had touched a nerve.  Perhaps I was in the presence of a mere marauder after all, and I was just hoping too hard.

            “Very opinionated of you,” I said softly.  He sighed.

            “…But still, they are idiots,” he said.

            From his tone I guessed that he wanted that to be the end of the subject.  Yet I wasn’t done with this line of thinking, as I was on the verge of learning something about my companion.

            “That seems rather unfair, don’t you think?” I offered.  “If they are unable to live within the laws of society, but their way of living because of it is less than favorable, doesn’t that mean their right to exist is negligible?”

            A few seconds passed.

            “I suppose,” was all he said.

            I sighed this time, but reigned in my impatience as he did with his… assuming he had any, of course.  So with that I diverted the path of discussion on another course.

            “You told me earlier today that you were doing this for revenge,” I started.  At this point he did glance up at me, but again, his expression remained calm.  He was listening.  “Adding that to our current goal of finding this Claude Maric guy and your recent… hm… discharge from prison… can I assume that Maric was the one who put you in there in the first place?”

            And once again my companion receded into the silent recesses of his mind.  His gaze was upon the water now, and I guessed that he was piecing together his answer.

            “After I kill him tomorrow I will tell you,” he then answered, surprising me.  I didn’t expect him to answer, let alone offer to actually explain himself.  “I’m uncomfortable giving details until the job is done.”

            “Superstitious?” I asked with a small grin.

            “Habit,” he answered, standing up.  My grin faded.

            “You’re not going to eat?”

            “Not hungry,” he said while crawling onto the bedroll that was situated outside of the tent, allowing me to take the one inside.

            As I thought about it, the skewered rat wasn’t all that appealing to me either.

 

* * *

 

            “Wake up.”

            The raspy voice of my reptilian companion resonated in my semi-conscious mind.  Usually I dislike being awakened by anything other than my own volition, as it typically doesn’t work anyway, but there was a subtle authority in his voice that let my unconsciousness understand very quickly that that was going to be the only offer he gave before heading off alone.  I instantly sat up.

            Then everything went dark.  Although, after a few moments of consideration, I had realized that I hadn’t somehow slipped back into an unintended sleep, as the cold sensation of scales across my face gave me the hint that Rasi’Mar’s hand was latched to it.  When he released it I realized that he had to quickly stop me from slamming my head directly into his.

            “Er, sorry,” I weakly handed to him.

            He didn’t say anything.  He just stood up from his kneeling position and walked over to retrieve the sack that held our recent acquisition.  Upon doing so, he slung it over his shoulder and turned towards the rolling hills that escalated north.

            “They will be making their way here soon,” he stated.  “It should take us a couple of hours to intercept them.”

            “Maric, you mean?” I asked.

            He nodded.

 

* * *

 

            Contrary to his prediction, we did not confront the bandits along the way.  We arrived at the Roxey Inn in less than an hour, strangely enough, although I believed that to be due to Rasi’Mar’s bracing pace.  I of course talked most of the way, mostly out of observation of Cyrodiil’s picturesque landscape.

            “Have you noticed how perfectly carved out this land is?” I asked him as we climbed the hills.  “It’s almost as if someone came along and painted over all of the imperfections.  No wonder the Imperials picked this place for their Empire.  Have you been to Morrowind?  That place is a traveler’s nightmare.”

            “There’ve been allusions to Cyrodiil having been a jungle in written works,” Rasi’Mar surprisingly answered.  I of course ceased my yapping to let him elaborate.  “During Reman’s era.  The Interregnum.”

            “Again your education shows,” I pointed out.  “You owe me a story.”

            “I could be lying.”

            He didn’t speak after that, which allowed me to continue with my observations, harvesting some of the flora along the way.  Whether he took notice or not I wasn’t aware of.

            When we reached the fence to the inn I noticed that there was a chestnut-colored horse reigned outside of the establishment.  I assume my companion noticed as well, given his comment about it.

            “A Legionnaire is here,” he said off-handedly, as if it meant nothing.  I turned to him, silent this time, waiting for me to relay his plan.  He didn’t say anything at first, but he did do something I didn’t expect him to – the sack was handed to me.  I shot him a confused look, as I thought the entire point of the excursion into the ruin was related to murdering this fellow.  “Stay here.  This won’t take long.”

            As he turned to walk away from me, it was at this moment I felt a sense of coldness I hadn’t considered previously.  This was a man that was literally going to murder not just one person, but several.  And yet he spoke of it like it was going to the store.  Granted, he killed all of the bandits we found in Vilverin; but that was out of self-defense… mostly.  Was this the same?  If Maric _had_ caused Rasi’Mar’s incarceration, was he justified in ending his life?

            I suspected the answer would come when he finally told me his reasons.  And sure enough, I would hear those reasons relatively soon – as promised, the Argonian did not take long at all.  The door to the inn opened, and he was the only one that stepped out.  His blade, however, was not bloodied, nor did it even look like he removed it from its sheath.  As there were obviously no traps in a tavern, I wondered how he was able to kill all of them without… and then it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps his query was not there.  An odd sense of dread and relief filled me, and in that instantaneous moment of emotional confusion that I did not immediately understand, they interplayed with each other until I felt nothing but numbness.

            Instead of physically reacting, I watched as Rasi’Mar stood out in the open for several minutes, staring into the horizon.  I didn’t know what he was thinking.  And then it became clear – he turned to the horse beside him and began untying the reigns.  This gave me enough energy to move from my frozen state.

            “Wait… what are you doing?” I asked, even though on the surface it was obvious.

            He pushed himself onto the horse and offered his hand.

            “Maric is dead,” he said softly.  “Our next destination is Anvil.  I’d rather not walk.”

            As I stared up at his face, his expression remained the same.  Curious, patient, and willing to listen.  Death to him was merely a point of life.  An aspect.  I realized that at that very moment, taking his hand was akin to accepting who he was and what he stood for; the decay of the society I had fought to earn my place in.  Yet it was not this thought that forced my fingers to interlock with his.

            We rode west.


	4. Chapter 4: They Know Their Doom

"…'Lorkhan had found the Aedric weakness. While each rebel was, by their separate nature, immeasurable, they were, through jealousy and vanity, also separate from each other. They were also unwilling to go back to the nothing of before. So while they ruled their false dominions, Lorkhan filled the void with a myriad of new ideas. These ideas were legion. Soon it seemed that Lorkhan had a dominion of his own, with slaves and everlasting imperfection ns, and he seemed, for all the world, like an Aedra' –"

"'Thus did he present himself as such to the demon Anui-El and the Eight Givers: as a friend,'" Rasi'Mar finished for me.

I lowered the book and looked down at the back of his hood. A half-smirk crawled its way onto a corner of my mouth.

"I didn't think you'd have this memorized," I stated while withholding a chuckle. "Nor did I take you for a cultist. Why do you have this on you, anyway?"

He took a few steps before answering, which seemed to be the norm for him.

"It's not mine. It must have been the soldier's," he answered. "Toss it. Ludicrous nonsense from a delusional author."

Of course I didn't actually throw it aside. Rather, I returned the work to its original pouch latched to the saddlebags. "It seems you have an opinion on this, too. And that you understand it. Care to share?"

"Hmf," he grunted.

I didn't press him. If he was religious, it seemed like a conversation that would have to wait until we had reached our destination, wherever that ultimately led us. Yet…

"It suggests that Shezzar created the world under orders of Sithis to destroy the Gods," he unexpectedly explained. "And by using trickery, the Gods crafted their own demise."

"Aha, so you are as educated as I postulated initially," I said smugly. "Well, at least in this area. Do you know mathematics?" Naturally, he didn't answer this. Whether or not he knew what this meant was up for debate, but I surmised that his silence was more to the effect of having no interest in that line of conversation. So instead, I reverted back to the previous subject. "What makes these ideas ludicrous?"

As if I was given the keys to a lock no one could even begin to understand, the Argonian answered almost on cue. Uncertainty in my choice once again bubbled its way to the surface, but I let it reside to hear his answer.

"We enjoy connecting things that have little relevance with each other together, simply so we can have a better understanding of the world around us," he said.

I glanced up in thought. I was reminded of the article back at the Bloated Float, and then at how I kept thinking about it. I shook my head.

"I see."

Despite Rasi'Mar's initial aversion towards walking to the western banks of the Province, he ultimately decided that being seen with an obviously stolen Imperial Legion horse was not the best idea. So it was that we decided to avoid the roads altogether and cut straight through the Great Forest, giving us some of the most gorgeous scenery I had ever bore witness to. The towers of wooden greenery collected in the sky, providing the land enough shade to be appealing but not too much as to overcast below in a cloak of darkness. Through the cracks of the canopy I could see the vibrant, blue of the heavens and the white, afternoon sun; all of which once again pointed passionately at how perfect the landscape was. Straight out of a storybook.

Whether out of gentleman-like obligation or the need to experience these wonders personally, though, Rasi'Mar decided to allow me the full back of the equine and walk himself, leading in front. Indeed, this meant we were going at a slower pace, but he didn't seem to be tied down to a deadline any longer. A deadline, as I was reminded, that only existed because of his quenched revenge.

"So… I believe you mentioned that you'd tell me your story, Rasi'Mar, once you've murdered the men that apparently sought you harm," I said, assuming of course that they did in fact seek him harm. "I'd really like to know how an escaped prisoner is knowledgeable in religious affairs."

He turned his head back at me. "Are you insinuating that the two are mutually exclusive?" he asked. The statement was not what threw me off-guard – it was the coyness with which he used to say it. I could almost hear a smirk. The Argonian turned back. "I jest. And I believe I said I would tell you when the job is complete."

"I thought you killed Maric."

"Maric was not my only concern."

"Heh, I guess this was to be expected… knowing everything about you was not in our deal," I shrugged, defeated. But once again my companion sought to disarm me, perhaps now to play with my expectations.

"However," he started. "That part of my life is over. Killing Maric was personal. Killing my last target…" he paused, pushing a shrub aside so the horse could pass through unhindered, "…is business.

"I wasn't aware that ending someone's life could be anything other than personal," I suggested. "Isn't murder more intimate than sex?"

Rasi'Mar shrugged.

I shrugged too.

"So okay, then, if Maric is no longer holding you back…"

He sighed. I took the gesture as a way to compose himself.

"I was born in 411. My father was a count," he started. Of course I immediately had questions.

"An Argonian lord? I thought you said you were born in Cyrodiil, not the Black Marsh."

Rasi'Mar shook his head. "Notice that I said 'count', not lord," he corrected. "He was an Imperial. I was adopted. I never knew my actual parents."

"Ah… I see. Continue."

"You wondered how I became as educated as I am," he said. "Well, that's why. I was a privileged child with nothing but written works to keep me occupied."

"You didn't have any friends?" I asked, once again interrupting. Instead of getting irritated, he turned his head to face me again. I had learned not to expect irritation from him.

"I was an Argonian with the same benefits as an Imperial noble. It was implied that I would eventually take the throne as part of my inheritance, seeing as the count had no other kin." This time he did smile, although it was dripping with hollowness. "How many parents would want their children to befriend me?"

"Mm," I sounded sympathetically. He turned forward.

"No, I was lonely. But not unhappy. Bored, yes, but I understood the fortune I had in the life I lived. It's why I read. Not necessarily to keep me busy, but to make something of the luck I was given," he said.

"A kid with no friends that enjoyed being quiet and learning. Sounds like the makings of a serial killer."

"Probably," he concurred for some odd reason. "Although, I like to believe that my behavior was solely influenced by my dad –" He paused as if he had made some social faux pas. "…By my adopted father."

"You can say dad," I reassured without much thought.

He remained silent for the next few seconds.

"That was my life until I turned ten," he continued. I cocked my head. "Then Maric and his bandits raided the castle."

"Ah." While it was wrong, I did feel a tinge of unearned satisfaction of knowing the name before the context of the story. Pieces were suddenly coming together.

"This isn't why I wanted revenge, though," he suddenly said, and I noticed that he was looking at me again. Apparently my feelings were enough to be plastered across my face. I frowned as the pieces disassembled once more. "Although I was kidnapped. Typical reason. Ransom. As a child I understood their plight, even if I regarded them as idiots."

"Not that idiotic if they were somehow all able to sneak into a castle," I pointed out.

"That was Maric," he said. "He and two others were the ones who kidnapped me. It was planned. At least, as far as I knew. He never told me how exactly he did it; although to be fair, I never asked. I didn't care."

I held my chin. "Hold on. If they took you for ransom…"

"How did I end up staying with them? I'll again point to Maric," he explained. "On the same night I was kidnapped I attempted to make my escape, and ended up killing one of his men."

"At such a young age. How did that feel?" I asked.

Rasi'Mar then stopped. I wondered if I had inquired a little too personally, but then remembered my faith in his temperance. So it was that he remained consistent. A little too consistent.

"I was young. I wasn't strong. The dagger didn't go through her skull as easily as I expected, but said expectations came from years of reading about people who have already killed. At least I was aware of the technique –"

"Er… I meant emotionally," I flinched.

Rasi'Mar opened his mouth to speak, but closed it and continued to walk. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"To be more specific, I don't remember. I wasn't thinking about my emotions at the time. I just knew I had to escape," he explained. "But he caught me. He had expected that I would attempt to leave, but he didn't know I'd have the resolve to kill the one guarding me. The others opted to punish me there – not to kill me, as that would mean losing their cut – but to send me back with missing limbs. Maric, however dissuaded them."

"He became sympathetic? That quickly?"

"No. He actually found the situation funny. He explained to his group that if a child of ten years was capable of killing one of twenty or beyond, then he didn't want them in his company. Following that he decided to use me as a way of thinning his ranks, to ensure both loyalty and skill. A test. I managed to kill three more of his people before he decided that they were all worthless, and as punishment, he wasn't going to ransom me, thus deny their pay."

"Okay…" I started, suddenly having a lot of questions. I stuck with one, however. "You said it yourself; you were weak. How could you murder, let alone fight, three fully grown men?"

He paused in thought again.

"I don't know. It seems ridiculous. They just seemed…" Rasi'Mar trailed here, almost as if he was lost in his own reminiscence. "…Like they were idiots. They fumbled, flailed, swung randomly, followed only where I was at the time rather than where I was going to be. They made it obvious I was their only target so I knew where their focus was. In hindsight I probably should have killed them all and returned home."

"So why didn't you?" I asked.

"Maric."

Once again silence pervaded the forest for many seconds before he continued.

"I didn't know then why he traveled with any of those idiots. The longer I stayed with him, the more I watched them fail at nearly every task they were given. Maric had to pull everyone's weight. I didn't understand. Maybe that's why I stayed; I wanted to comprehend what was happening in his head. Everyone but him was an idiot. I wanted to know why."

"Seems rather selfish of you to keep your dad waiting like that," I boldly stated. But again, he didn't take this as personally as he probably should have.

"It was," he admitted. "There came a day when I was allowed to return home. When I was allowed to choose the course of my life – to return to my previous existence, or the one I was forced into."

"And you chose the latter. Why?" I asked. The moment I did, though, I realized how presumptuous the question was. I judged his character based on the idea that he was still a bandit. "Sorry…" I muttered under my breath. However, he visibly shrugged.

"Shame, most likely. I was with Maric for six years before I was allowed that choice. And several after that. How was I supposed to tell him why I never returned?" he asked. "So I turned away and returned to my new life."

I studied him for a handful of minutes as he remained silent. He seemed to know that I wanted to ask a question.

"You're very analytical about your emotional responses," I said after a short exhale.

"I suppose," he answered sheepishly. "I guess I just don't lend much thought to it."

This was concurrent with his childhood; he was detached from the outside world, thus it made sense that he'd be equally detached from what was inside as well. How could he know otherwise? Perhaps this was the reason for his patience and appetite for listening – he knew no other course of action. No wonder this Maric fellow kept him around.

"You mentioned that you didn't know why he traveled with those other bandits," I brought up. "Are you implying that you know now?"

Despite any revelation I just made, there was a noticeable coldness that seemed to exude from his being upon asking the question. I suspected then that this led into his quest for revenge.

"…Among banditry… Maric partook in a lot of dungeon exploration. He was intelligent enough to know that the black market was not the only possibility to make money. Treasure seekers would often buy the commodities we would find in tombs, buried keeps, and most of all, Ayleid ruins."

Vilverin. Now it began to make sense.

"Despite Maric's intelligence, though, he was not the only one of that caliber. Thus others too realized the value of such markets, and thus we had many rivals. One of which was the mercenary band hired out by the renowned collector residing in the Imperial City…" he explained. "The High Elf named Umbacano."

I glanced to the side. "The name sounds familiar."

"To the East Empire Company? I'm not surprised. I'd imagine he'd use their services in one way or another. Regardless, he was obviously not completely legitimate. And this was apparent when he'd try to have us killed when we raided a ruin that contained something he wanted. We would sell the very commodities he intended to keep for himself. He was a collector – not a businessman. And it didn't take the genius of Maric to realize that there was an opportunity here waiting to be taken advantage of."

I didn't say anything when he paused at this point. He let out a long sigh, and I was only able to hazard a guess as to what he was about to say.

"Maric brokered a deal with Umbacano," he explained. "We'd do one job for him, and after that we'd stay out of his territory and he ours. And it was at this point Maric slipped up."

"I could have assumed as much. I'd be surprised if a collector actually gave up their future finds," I said.

"Given the people Maric surrounded himself with, I wasn't surprised no one warned him. Still, I didn't understand why he didn't anticipate betrayal. It seemed obvious to me at the time; why bother doing a job in the first place? As expected, Umbcano led us into a trap. Yet it wasn't to kill us. No, the Altmer was smart; he knew of Maric's prowess, but most importantly, his reputation. No doubt the Legion would have wanted him detained."

I said nothing. The way he spoke about these events made it seem like they were obvious to everyone and thus insignificant; thus I had to really push myself to pay attention to every detail. His droll was not helping.

"We all should have been executed that day. Or at the very least, imprisoned," he said. "Instead… instead I figured out at that moment why he was with those idiots." He paused. "Once more Maric brokered a deal. This time, though, it wasn't to avoid bloodshed. In exchange for his lifelong service under Umbacano's name, Maric gave all of us to the Legion. We weren't his company. We were his scapegoats. Pawns."

"…And that's why you were in prison," I said, finally figuring it out.

"Yes. I killed him because he used me, and because I had finally understood his mindset. He was scum. He was selfish. And he was an idiot," Rasi'Mar bitterly said.

"So Vilverin…"

"Was the ruin where I was betrayed. Those bandits were Maric's. The statuette was what Umbacano had us look for."

"And Anvil…"

"Maric had all of our belongings fenced. We're going to Anvil to get them back," he explained. "Specifically, my scimitar."

"And then…?"

"I kill Umbacano."

Silence again. This time for many minutes.

"So we're going back to the Imperial City after we get your sword?" I asked, if only to break the tension.

"Yes."

"I see."

My companion stopped. He turned back to regard me. Oddly enough, his expression was one of sympathy.

"You don't have to follow anymore," he said. "Part of why I told you this was to scare you off. These are my sins to carry. You're an actual citizen. You shouldn't associate…"

"I'm following you so I can save my sister," I said immediately. A soft breeze carried through the foliage, warm enough to be considered dreamlike and comforting. I stared at him long and hard before continuing. "I don't need your pity, Rasi'Mar. I know what I'm doing."

His eyes lingered on me after I made my declaration. It wasn't the intimate setting I was hoping for, but perhaps that was to be saved for the details. He then turned around, but before he continued his gait I swung off the horse.

"Let me walk for a bit. You sit," I said.

He kept his gaze forward for a moment, but then silently obeyed. He climbed the stolen horse.

"Anvil isn't our immediate destination," he then said as I started leading. "I wanted… I want to stop by my home first."

I didn't let him see it, but I let a small smile play across my face.

"You haven't told me what city it was, yet."

He looked ahead.

"Kvatch."


	5. Chapter 5: Cleansing

Chapter 5: Cleansing

Crimson skies. Bleeding air. Distant crumbling. The sight before me was of course something I would never forget, but there was an attribute relating to it that I'm unsure would leave the minds of anyone present. The obsidian arc that imposed its malevolent will upon everything cast in its destitute shadow hugged the ethereal blanket within its arms. Beyond it, a gateway to further mundaneness. Before it, the nightmares spawned from the womb within. Through it, a visage none would ever conceive for the remnants of their days. Could ever. Should ever. But one did.

"I'm going to close it."

Of course it was him.

"I'm going to close it!"

It was always him. The one who could choose. The one with the red hood. My companion.

Rasi'Mar ripped his blade forward with such a ferocity that for the first time in his presence, I experienced uneasiness. His eyes defied the skies. His bared teeth denied the air. His resolve drowned out the crumbling. And his gait…

It led him directly into the nightmares.

"I haven't read too much about it," I answered. "I spend most of my time with administrative obligations. Did I mention that this is my first trip to Cyrodiil?"

"It's an appealing town," Rasi'Mar said quietly. "At least… when I was there."

"Oh? Explain it to me; I'd love to have a visual."

"You're going to see it anyway," he said.

I glanced back at him with as warm a smile I could muster. "Of course. But I seem to have you in a loquacious mood. Might as well abuse it while it lasts."

Despite the endeavor to preclude it, a flash of a grin was noticeable on his expression. I turned forward again to let him have his sullenness.

"Hm. It had its own arena," he started to explain. "My father used to take me there every once and a while."

"Father-son bonding over theatrical bloodshed. Makes as much sense as anything else, I suppose," I huffed.

Rasi'Mar shook his head. "That wasn't the spectacle. At least for him," he continued. "Being the count, it was necessary that he showed up for at least the important matches, but he'd take me along to observe the betting side. We'd never bet ourselves, but we would watch the nobles who took the sport seriously. In a way, we would bet on the bettors. I suppose in hindsight he was letting me observe human nature, and the sociology behind it."

I glanced back at him to see his expression appearing to wax nostalgic. Changing the subject seemed prudent to keep the light tone.

"What about the city proper?" I asked.

Rasi'Mar snapped out of his haze and began to recount details about his home for a portion of our journey. From the way the river reflected the Colovian stonework, the lustrous flora that painted the downcast grey, the impressive architecture that held the population together. There was a shift in his behavior, one that slowly began to unravel that hard, brooding shell the Argonian seemed to cloak over himself much like the hood wrapped around his scaled head. For all the world he seemed to be genuinely at peace. Thoughts of the revenge he was so determined to dole out appeared to be foreign. Alien. Nonexistent.

And then we saw the smoke from the forest clearing.

Any pretense of jubilation was washed out by the inky plumes that rose from the scorched hilltop. At first I assumed it was a forest fire, but because of the proximity with which he continued to point out and the extreme alteration in tone I should have known right then and there.

"…Get on," he quickly demanded. I didn't hesitate.

In little time at all we galloped until we met the road, and from there, westward. Hard. I watched the sky as it gradually began to lose its cerulean hue, seemingly preferring that of a duller palate, one that let its viewer understand the torment it was about to endure. Or perhaps, we were about to endure.

A sharp turn to the right and up the hill caused us to pass by a fleeing elf. If he had something to say I would never know. Rasi'Mar didn't seem to care. Nor did he seem to care that there was a – small – gathering of despondent, tattered people that didn't even spare us a passing glance.

"Rasi'Mar…!" I failingly called out to him. He didn't respond. The encampment was of no concern to him. I knew then with absolute assuredness that he had a single goal in mind – the gates of Kvatch.

The coiling path did little to ease the tension thick in the atmosphere threatening to choke my own perceived sense of comfort. It was then I noticed that the exhibition of greys accompanied the slow fall of the sky's tears fed into the bleeding air. Ahead, a barricade of armored men, brandishing weapons of all kinds. Every one of them disallowed their undivided attention from straying off the sight that eluded me for a mere few seconds. And then we reached the peak of the hill.

To the left, the infernal doorway stood at attention. The horse came to a stop, but not before my companion had already flung himself off, leaving me with empty reigns. I grabbed them, but only for a moment so that I could descend as well.

"What the…" a voice angrily called. "You two shouldn't be here! Get back to the encampment!"

My eyes never left the portal. Was it a portal? It seemed that way. But I wasn't able to discern it by the static moment. Regardless, my lack of attention for the company surrounding us led to a firm hand latching onto the straps of my armor.

"Did you hear me?! Get out of here now! You're going to be killed!" the man screamed at my face.

"Please, we…" I started.

"Captain!" another man yelled.

Rasi'Mar, who had forced his way past several of the warriors, was equally admonished by the nonverbal change in company. We all watched as the fiery gateway spun and spat, wretched and coiled; and came forth the beings I never wished to witness in the entirety of my life.

Three sprinted toward all of us, the tan-skinned demonic humanoids. Their ears elongated, their jaws unhinged. But most disturbingly, their screeches clawed at my eardrums as their talons would my flesh.

"Damn it! Here they come again!" the captain commanded.

But my companion, perhaps blinded in rage and fear at what was metamorphosing just a few yards before him, refused to heed the admonishments and raised his dominant hand forward. It was a mystery what he was planning to accomplish – my only guess at this point was that he was so broken by these events that he plotted to halt them by gesture alone – but in the following seconds it became clear. The only clear thing to happen since we rode so hard out of the forest.

Contrasting the reddened colors of the atmosphere the flash of lightning spewed from the tips of his fingers and splayed into the ground. As if the original was but a mother, it gave birth to three more flashes, and the bolts of elemental magicks sprung from where their parent crashed and slammed unabashedly into the three creatures charging all of us, providing such force that they flung back into the ground behind them. They lay now permanently, the show my companion gave granting them their earned death.

And that was when he made his declaration.

"I'm going to close it."

With a voice that caused the portal to tremble.

"I'm going to close it!"

A voice that rivaled the thundering heavens.

"Your friend's a spellsword, huh?" a soldier asked.

"Doesn't matter. Reform ranks, he's dead anyway," the captain announced. "We gave him a fair warning."

I of course demanded his attention.

"What are you talking about?" I inquired. "Why is he dead? What is that thing?"

The captain glared at me before releasing my straps.

"We don't know. And this isn't a place for a citizen! You should be heading back to encampment, now!"

Before I could respond with the predictable defiance, a different voice preceded it. The owner caught the corner of my eye.

"This is the broken covenant. The Prince has won. The Gods have forsaken us."

"By the Nine, is this a tourist event?! You three, get these two out of here!"

Three soldiers quickly moved to grab hold of both of us. The man in question was older, balding, and wore a grey robe. I was quick to assume his – perhaps now deprecated – pious position.

"My friends…! The holy ground, they are all dead! The Gods have forsaken us! The Enemy has won!" he yelled, his face showing nothing but anguish. "This day belongs to the Prince!"

Possibly because of my gender only one of the soldiers was tasked with removing me. I was quick to show him that I am easily forgetful of such facts.

"What is he talking about?" I asked, pushing the man aside. He didn't give a second attempt; I surmised he couldn't be bothered.

"What do you think…?" he asked with bitterness. I noticed the captain sighing.

"We don't know what happened. Last night a gateway – much larger than the one we're looking at now – appeared from nowhere and… monsters…"

Another soldier stepped forward.

"Daedra," he said.

A word that held many detractions of the meaning it twisted. I had of course educated myself in the subject many years ago. Demonic beings that inhabited a different plane of existence from ours, they belonged to the Princes that ruled over their prospective spheres. I've read accounts of their nature and viewed drawings as to their likeness, but never would have thought I'd be witness to their horridness in any chapter of my life.

"You're saying… that that thing is a portal to Oblivion?" I asked, stepping back. Maybe I should have listened to them in the first place.

"A giant, metal, fire-breathing son of a bitch came from the big one I mentioned and…" the captain continued. "It just… killed everyone. Destroyed everything… we didn't have time… the chapel…"

"Captain Matius!"

"Oh hell… here they come again!"

Once more the gateway sent forth its legion of monstrosities. This time, however, the number was twice more than prior. Perhaps the fates decided we needed a challenge. The soldiers rushed ahead to meet their adversary head on. Out of reflex my hand went to the mace at my hip, but hesitation still crept into my blood.

"Lady!" Matius suddenly yelled. My eyes latched onto his. "I'm not going to warn you again. Return to the encampment or stay here and die! Either way, don't impede us from protecting what few people we can!"

And so he charged ahead to join his soldiers. I stood still. In that moment I realized I had a conversation with a group of people I had never met before, and felt not an ounce of concern for the fact that my companion had thrown himself into what by all counts could have been a pit of death and fire. A thought to be analyzed later, however, as one of the creatures bypassed the defensive line; meaning it was heading straight for me.

I did not flinch, nor falter in what I had learned to do. My feet set themselves, my hands held the handle of my weapon, and my arms lifted it from its perch. Moments before the monster was able to viscerally tear my esophagus out into the cold world, the spike from my mace smashed into its cheek, ripping straight through and felling it into the ground beside me. Its unearthly blood made a mess of my plating.

"Seems the girl can fight," one of the soldiers said as they finished with their opponents.

"Hmf," Matius huffed. They made their way back to the barricade. "What's your name, citizen?"

"Secura."

"Well, Secura, you've just been enlisted into what's left of the Kvatch guard," he pronounced. "You didn't want to leave, so now you're going to help us."

I frowned, but it was fair enough. "Fine. What are we doing?"

"What does it look like? We're keeping these damned things from overrunning the encampment," he answered.

I blinked several times.

"To what end?" I asked. "It doesn't seem like they're going to let up anytime s –"

"Until they're all dead or we close that portal!" he declared. "That's our job, and I'll be damned if we let another death happen on my watch."

"You plan on closing it?"

"I've already sent men in, but none have come out," he explained. "That's why your friend just committed suicide. Right now our priority is closing it so we can get in and save the rest of the citizens in the chapel."

"There are people still in there?" I asked, ignoring his comment about my companion. Once again the thought was shoved aside for reasons I didn't care to address yet.

"Yes," Matius answered. "When that thing started destroying the city, many tried to flee, but were all killed. The ones we saved are down below. But there were a few that didn't try to make it out, and hid within the chapel. If we could just get inside we could save those people… but this accursed gate…"

I turned my head and gazed upon the portal. Lightning and fire lashed from its incorporeal epicenter, refusing anyone to pass. One by one the soldiers turned as well, watching as it loomed over the burned earth. And then as if our combined hopelessness had somehow pled with the universe, a miracle occurred.

The earthen blackness below the obsidian frame reached up from the hells below and engulfed the entirety of the gateway into a maelstrom of fire and despair. The wrath of the explosion created a shockwave that threw us all to the ground beneath our feet, armor and iron clanging as a result. None of us, however, allowed such an occurrence prevent witnessing what they had tossed aside as a fact of this life. What I had then realized was an unerring sense of faith.

Standing in the ashes of the dead gateway, resolute and devoid of any fear, was a warrior bathed in the blood and soot of a world unknown to our comprehension. His leather armor was torn, his sword beaten. His hood was shredded and handing from his neck. Rasi'Mar held an expression I've never seen before.

Defiance.


End file.
